


Chocolates and Canary Creams

by asfragileasaword



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 05:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5035501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asfragileasaword/pseuds/asfragileasaword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, everyone is a little bit lost and has to deal with the fallout. Fred learns what it means to live without his other half. Hermione learns how to let go of forced bravery. Finding solace in one another helps them along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chocolates and Canary Creams

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I've been playing around with this idea for a while, and I finally got brave enough to write the beginning of it. This story starts out rather sad, but will (hopefully) pick up as we go along. The chapters will also get longer as we go. It starts during the Final Battle.
> 
> Thank you for taking time out of your day to read this. I hope that you enjoy it.

The castle was silent.

The screams and wails that had rung through the air less than an hour before had completely disappeared, leaving an eerie stillness. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, still wary, stepped cautiously over the bloodstained floors of the entrance hall. They picked their way around the evidence of the horrors of that night – scattered gemstones that had once served as House points, broken stone, splintered wood, and the occasional scrap of cloth. The echo of their footsteps against the cracked flagstone was unnerving.

“Where is everyone?” whispered Hermione.

Ron seemed to know the answer and, without saying a word, led both she and Harry to the Great Hall. A murmur came from within the room, and the cold, stale stench of death reached beyond the confines of the walls, creeping into the hallway. Hermione hesitated outside the door, not wanting to go in and face whatever the Hall held. She was immediately ashamed of the thought and, steeling herself, forced her feet to carry her across the entranceway. Ron was being so strong – his back was straight and his footsteps did not falter as he walked. She tried to follow his example, but she was learning that it was more difficult to pretend to be brave away from the battlefield than on it. Her steps slowed as she took in her surroundings, and she only just kept up with Ron. Part of her dimly noticed that Harry had not come into the Great Hall with them, but she couldn’t focus on that. She couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the gray, lifeless bodies in the middle of the room and the soft sobs of the living that were huddled around them.

The dead were lined up in the middle of the Great Hall, replacing the long House tables. There were so many – so many more than she had feared – and they were all so… _dead_. Hermione could not think of any word to better describe it. They all looked like empty husks, as though they were missing something vital, and their veiled, empty gazes chilled her to the bone. The bodies of the morgue – because this was a morgue now, a mass grave, not her beloved Great Hall – seemed to suck any possible warmth away from the room. She would have shivered had she not been so horrified. She likely would have done more than shiver – she would have broken down, cried, screamed, _something_. Anything to let out the pain of going through so much hardship for so long only to have it come to this. For everything they had done to result in the deaths of so many people.

However, Hermione did none of these things. She couldn’t. The scene that she faced was overwhelming enough to strike her mute. She was silent as she trailed Ron, observing each of the newly dead without making a sound. She did not gasp or cry out. Her body did not even allow for tears to collect in her eyes. Each second in the Hall made her feel numb and empty, as though she were becoming one of the corpses herself. She did not realize whom Ron was leading her towards until they reached a familiar group of redheads.

 _No. I don’t want to see. I_ can’t _see this._

She was sure that by now her face had been drained of all color and that her hands were visibly trembling. If someone had blown on her in that instant, she likely would have fallen to the ground and would not have had the energy to get up for years.

But she couldn’t. She had to help the family she was with now.

Ginny turned to Hermione. Her face was red and blotchy, and tears were making new tracks down her cheeks. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, Percy lean on Ron, and knew that she would have to be just as strong. Quelling her exhaustion and fear, she opened her arms and embraced the youngest Weasley, who sniffed and held on to her fiercely. Hermione closed her eyes briefly. She had faced far too much in the past year, and she would have to continue to do so. The war was not over yet, and Ginny – not to mention Harry and Ron – needed her, just as she needed them. They could try to draw strength from each other. She hoped it would be enough.

Maintaining her grip on Ginny, she opened her eyes and immediately wished she had not. She had seen exactly what she had not needed to see. There, lying together, were Tonks and Lupin. Their heads were tilted towards each other even in death. Hermione drew in a shaky breath and tightened her embrace. She wasn’t ready to face that yet. Desperately flitting her eyes away, her focus shifted over to see the one person whose death she had already known about.

His red hair, bright even now, stood out sharply in contrast to his pale skin. He was still grinning that carefree grin, looking unperturbed by his sudden passing. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood at his side, holding each other and sobbing. Mrs. Weasley’s tears fell onto his shock of orange hair and the ridiculous smile on his face. They also fell onto his twin brother, who did not move to avoid them. Instead, he knelt on the ground above his brother’s head, his own head bent and his back hunched, his hands cradling the head of his dead brother. There was no smile on the living twin’s face. His expression was twisted and hollowed by grief, and he allowed the tears to flow freely down his face. For the first time, it was possible to tell the difference between the two Weasley boys.

Hermione’s gut wrenched and she hurriedly closed her eyes again. Tears pressed against her eyelids, threatening to fall. She swallowed back the lump in her throat and fought against the sting in her eyes. Everyone around her was falling apart, and she longed to as well, but she couldn’t give in to grief yet. She had to be brave.

At least, she had to pretend to be. For her sake and for the sake of the war.

She did not open her eyes again for a long time. She did not know if she could handle seeing Fred Weasley broken and separate from George for the first time. She did not know if she could handle seeing him refuse to pretend to be brave for his dead brother.


End file.
